


Promotion

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-04
Updated: 2006-03-04
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:38:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8089255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Back from the Expanse, Archer feels the need to promote somebody. Suddenly the crew is swept back in time to the Napoleonic Era by a travelling time distortion. Archer takes the opportunity to test some officers for promotion. (02/24/2004)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers, 3.01 "The Xindi."  


* * *

So it was done. The crew of the NX-01 had found and destroyed the Xindi super-weapon. They had a nice long talk with Degra and company, reassuring them that Humans had no intention to destroy them, only in self-defence. They travelled out of the Expanse, returned home, and Earth was saved. Starfleet and the US government were making treaties and with the Xindi and getting to know them—as friends, not enemies. A good number of the Xindi still opposed Humans, and then again, a large number had no idea of the existence of Humans, like Grailik before Archer showed up. But things were getting along. Kind of.

Archer now paced in his ready-room in orbit around Earth, stopping occasionally to gaze at the stars and what lay beyond out the window. He was waiting for T'pol to come; he had asked to see her. A sudden beep at the door signalled that she had arrived.

"Come in." Archer said. He turned to the door to greet her as she gingerly stepped into the room, her white cat suit taut against her every move.

"You wanted to see me captain." She said, her voice as expressionless as her face. Her green eyes shimmered with logic.

"I want to promote somebody." He said. T'pol turned to him in surprise. Archer smiled. He remembered, 6 years ago, he had been promoted to Captain. He had always felt around this time each year the air of promotion.

T'pol continued to simply stare at him for a moment, looking at the expression in his eyes. His brown hair bounced a little as he swung his arms around his back and clamped them together. "Why?" She asked finally.

"Somebody deserves to be promoted. Everybody does. Especially you. You sacrificed your career, your very life to save a planet. And it's not even your planet. T'pol, you deserve it. You're a great commander." Archer said, intent on giving his extra pip to T'pol.

"Captain, the promotion will have no effect if I am to regain my commission to the High Command. They will restore my rank and I will be under orders from them. If I am to be promoted, it is Soval who will do it. I cannot accept, Captain."

Archer sighed. Why did logic have to be so logical. "And if you don't regain your commission?"

"Then the promotion will remain useless, as a ship can have only one Captain to function properly." T'pol stated. The smiles grew on Archers face. "You're right." He tossed the pip in the air, caught it, and put in one of the many zippered pockets on his uniform. He plopped down onto the chair in front of the computer, bringing his fingers to his lips in thought. T'pol, taking his action as a "dismissed," left him to his thoughts.

Suddenly the comm. Panel beside the door beeped. "T'pol to Captain Archer, you are needed on the bridge."

Casually Archer stood, and pressed the reply button. "Understood." The door whooshed, and he stepped onto the bridge. "Report."

"Sensors have detected a time distortion moving toward us at a high speed. It should hit us in 10 seconds." T'pol said unemotionally from her station.

"How long is it?" Archer asked.

"7 light years across, 7 light years long. We can't outrun it." T'pol stated again.

"How come you didn't detect it sooner?"

T'pol had no time to answer. The ship rocked violently as the distortion ploughed into the Enterprise, knocking her out of orbit. Sparks flew on the bridge, and after a moment there was a sudden silence. The ship was adrift beside the Earth, but in no danger of colliding with it.

"What happened?" Archer asked nobody in particular.

"According to the sensor readings, we have been thrown back to the Napoleon Era in the early 1800s." T'pol said.

A hint of a smile flickered on Lieutenant Reed's mouth, before fading like a spark.

* * *

"Captain what's going on up there?" Chief Engineer Trip Tucker's voice rattled over the comm. in his southern accent.

"A time distortion just went over us. What's the engine status?" Archer answered.

"Should be only an hour until we get warp 5 again. The best I can give you now is warp 2."

"I don't think you're going very far, Commander. Get it done but it's not priority." Archer ordered.

"Aye sir. Tucker out."

"Travis, put us back in orbit." Archer ordered helmsman Travis Mayweather.

"Aye sir. Standard orbit." He responded, his chocolate hands punching in commands on the control panel in front of him.

Archer seated himself in the Captain's chair. "T'pol, how long are we going to be in here?"

"7 minutes." She responded scientifically.

"No, I mean in here." Archer said again.

"According to my calculations, 7 days."

"7. Always 7." Archer muttered.

"And what are we going to do while we're here?" Malcolm asked, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest.

Hmm. Archer thought. Good question. He laid his arm down to rest on the arm rest, and the pip in his sleeve pocket dug into his arm. Oww! He almost yelped aloud. I can't wait till I'm rid of this pi-. A sudden thought occurred to Archer. "T'pol. Ready-room." He stated simply, rising. He didn't wait for her to rise; he just walked off into the ready-room. He sat in the chair behind the desk, and T'pol stood in front of it waiting for Archer to speak.

"I have an idea." He stated simply.

T'pol raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"While we were in the expanse, some of the crew didn't get the chance to...shine, you know? They didn't get much attention, or the chance to prove the best they can be. They've had their chances before we ventured into the Expanse, but I'd like to see what they do now, after the Expanse." Archer paused.

"What's your point?" T'pol asked.

"I want to send some people down to Earth in a shuttle. Use this opportunity to test them."

"Captain, we can't meddle with the time-line."

"I know, I know. But we've already meddled with it just by being here. If anyone sees the shuttle, they'll think it's a meteorite. We'll land somewhere that hasn't been colonized yet." Archer pointed out.

"I believe it is too risky."

"You obviously haven't learned anything of the impulsiveness of humans." Archer said smiling.

"Captain, I still believe it is too risky."

"And I'm willing to take that risk." Archer stood. "Promotion is in the air. Don't rain on my parade, T'pol. Some of the crew need the chance to show me and themselves who they can be if they try. For some, their whole life on Enterprise has been just one big routine from start till now. They need a chance, they need excitement, they need risk. They need to learn." Archer argued.

T'pol stood in thought for a moment, her eyebrow twitching momentarily.

"What will the crew do on the planet?" T'pol gave in.

"I think a simple survey mission, as if it were planet X or something. A lot can happen in 300 years to change a planet. Agreed?"

"Certainly." T'pol said. "Perhaps somewhere in western Canada that hasn't been colonized yet?"

Archer thought for a moment. "There's nowhere in the USA you can think of?"

"No."

"Alright."

"And who have you chosen to go on this mission?"

"I'm thinking Crewman Rostov, Ensign Cutler, Ensign Mayweather and Lieutenant Reed." Archer said.

"Reed?" T'pol asked, raising a pointed eyebrow, again.

"He didn't really get the chance to be himself while in the expanse. Just the old 'shoot here, shoot there.' Besides I won't let the lower-ranking people to go without someone with command experience." Archer said, just trying to get T'pol to agree with him.

T'pol relaxed her eyebrow. "Is that all?"

"Yes." Archer nodded. He turned the chair to the computer and started typing in commands.

"I shall inform the participants." T'pol said.

"Yes, please do." Archer said, smiling. Porthos barked as T'pol left the ready-room and entered the bridge.

* * *

"Why us?" Ensign Elizabeth Cutler asked, her light brown hair framing her face.

"Maybe he doesn't want to risk injury or something to the senior staff." Crewman Michael Rostov pointed out. He was seated just inside the entrance to shuttle pod 1, his feet dangling overboard as he talked to the ensign, who stood just outside the pod.

"Yeah, sure." Cutler replied, as ensign Mayweather entered the shuttle bay. His muddy brown eyes were full of surprise at seeing Cutler and Rostov there.

"What's going on?" He asked, stopping beside Cutler.

"We don't know." Rostov told him. "Maybe the Captain doesn't want to risk anything happening to the main crew."

"Then why not sign the MACO's up for this mission?" Travis snorted.

"They're not Starfleet." Cutler pointed out.

"Right." Travis rolled his eyes. "So is it just us going on this mission?"

Suddenly the launch bay doors whooshed open, and Malcolm stepped in. He beheld the sight of a crewman and two ensigns gathered around the shuttle pod gabbing nervously. When T'pol told him about the mission, he was expecting people like Trip and the Captain, T'pol and perhaps Travis. But not these inexperienced youngsters.

"Ummm..." He began, approaching the pod.

"We're just as confused as you are." Cutler said.

"Right." Malcolm said in his thick British accent.

They stood there for a moment, awkwardly, silently. Blinking at each other.

"Are we going?" Malcolm suddenly asked.

"Right!" Rostov snapped alive suddenly, climbing into the shuttle. Cutler, Travis then Malcolm followed. Malcolm took the pilot's seat at the very front of the pod, while his crewmates settled at stations around him.

From the control room of the launch bay the bay doors were opened, and the shuttle dived out and into space. From the bridge, Archer and company watched the descent of the pod on the view screen.

The pod slowly glided toward the planet toward the Western areas of Canada. Soon, it hit the atmosphere, appearing to explode into a fireball. The shuttle rocked a little bit, but they were soon out of the atmosphere and descending toward Earth.

Malcolm was scanning for a landing site when Travis' console beeped. It was a warning for air turbulence. Air turbulence? Travis thought. Why beep over a little air turbulence?? Travis' unspoken question was soon answered, the pod suddenly rocked violently, as if going through one of those horrid anomalies in the Expanse. "Sir, we seem to have hit some air turbulence." Travis said.

"Air turbulence?" Malcolm asked. "How could air on Earth be so violent?" Sparks began shooting from the far corners of the pod. The pod rocked again, throwing everybody forward in their seats. "I've lost helm control!' Malcolm shouted above the noise of sparks and rocking.

"Sir, my panel's not responding to commands!" Cutler said, followed by Rostov, then Travis.

On the view screen, Earth was bold and blue below them. But they were no where near the West Coast of Canada. They were heading toward the East. Too far to the East. The Atlantic ocean was growing beneath them. They were going to crash, in the middle of the ocean, between Canada and France.

Aquaphobia haunted Malcolm's mind. The water was zooming closer and closer. They would drown. On a peaceful, rather pathetic mission to a peaceful planet, in a rather uninteresting era.

"Sir!" Cutler suddenly shouted. "What are your orders?"

"Contact the Enterprise, send out a distress signal, just get their attention!!!" Malcolm yelled.

Blue now completely filled the view screen. Malcolm could pick out individual waves, rolling playfully along the cold surface of the Ocean. Then they crashed.

If the shuttle pod were a human, it would have done a belly-flop. It was rather funny that the pod had landed like that, upright as if it were smacking onto land. Water burst up around the pod, the crewmates in it were thrown in their seats. Power failed, life support went offline, the blinking lights on the consoles and panels died. The windows cracked and shattered, spilling glass all over the pod. The view screen shattered, like a spider's glass web. The door was blown off the pod by the force of the landing and water. The crystal blue, yet terribly cold water began flowing into the pod.

* * *

"Sir," Linguist Ensign Hoshi Sato said as her console beeped. "We're receiving a distress signal. From the...the shuttle pod." She looked up at the Captain as he stood and came to look over her shoulder.

"Put it through." Archer said. Hoshi tapped some buttons, and the message played through. At first all they heard was explosions and random voices shouting out. Then Ensign Cutler's voice yelled over the comm.:

"Shuttle pod 1 to Enterprise, we seem to have run into some air turbulence and are careening towards the Atlantic Ocean. We need you hel—" Cutler's voice distorted into static, the static into a high pitch beep, and then beep died.

* * *

Crewman Rostov swiftly dived from his seat to the space on the pod wall where the door used to be. Having no more use inside the pod, he quickly climbed up on the top of the pod without touching the water.

Torn between running from the water (Run to where? He thought) and typing in some final commands in the non-functioning consoles, Malcolm croaked a "go!" back to the two ensigns. With a quick glance at each other they stood and, running, followed Rostov to the roof of the pod.

After the console beeped a few more uncooperative times, Malcolm banged his fists on the console. Enterprise will never know what happened! He feared. Suddenly, water began streaming in from the cracks in the view screen and ran down the console, over his hands, and onto his lap. He shot up with a yelp, and watched the water on the floor grow bigger and bigger. The glass of the view screen groaned deeply, then the glass burst like a balloon. Water roared into the pod while Malcolm scrambled onto the pod roof. With some help from Cutler, Rostov, and Travis, he made it up in his panicked state. He plopped onto the roof, gasping for breath he never lost.

"What do we do now?" Rostov asked. "The pod won't stay floating forever."

Malcolm's head snapped in his direction. He hadn't thought of that. With a groan he muttered "We're doomed!"

Nobody complained or replied, or even tried to think of something encouraging to say. What good thing can you say to cheer up a pessimist? For a while they sat, stood, contemplated and blinked on the creaking, groaning and sinking shuttle pod.

Travis sat down beside Mal and whispered so Cutler and Rostov couldn't hear: "Permission to speak freely?" He asked.

"Granted." Reed mumbled.

"Do you know how to swim?" Travis whispered again.

Malcolm looked at him, his cold, blue eyes stabbing Travis.

"Just asking!" He said, waving his arms as if to surrender.

"Sir! What's that?" Rostov called suddenly, pointing to something in the distance. Malcolm followed his arm and spotted something, woody brown on the bottom and cottony white on the top, floating on the horizon.

"It's a ship." Malcolm said, surprised. Hope bubbled in him.

Suddenly the pod groaned loudly and rocked. Water began surging in extremely swiftly, and the pod shifted sideways with the weight of the water. The crewmates threw out their arms for balance, as the pod sunk deeper in the shimmering waters. The ocean began lapping over the roof, towards Malcolm, Travis, Cutler and Rostov. It lapped closer, and closer, until the water was one inch thick on top of the pod.

Malcolm groaned again, fear pulsing through his veins.

The ship had grown larger on the horizon, so that it was like a little bath-toy floating nearer. The crewmates could barely make out the figures of people, dressed in red navy uniforms. There was a good number of them gathered looking over the side of the ship, watching them.

"Oh no." Malcolm gasped, another horror dawning on him.

"What?" Cutler asked him.

"T'pol said this was the Napoleonic Era, right?"

"Right." Travis said.

"The French and British are at war. The French wore red. The British blue." Malcolm informed them. "Those guys are French, and I'm British, wearing blue. We're in trouble."

* * *

"Scan for their bio-signs." Archer ordered T'pol from his comfortable chair.

"In a 5 mile diameter from where the shuttle should have crashed, I'm picking up just 36 bio-signs, all human." (Duh, T'pol thought.) "They all appear to be gathered around each other in a large group. They're all within 2 meters of each other."

"36 people? Together? In the middle of an ocean? That doesn't make sense." Hoshi commented.

"Remember, this is the Napoleonic times. They're probably all on a sailboat." T'pol pointed out.

"A sailboat!" Archer exclaimed. "That's where the away-team must be. Oh no!" He thought aloud suddenly, dread falling over his face. "They're going to contaminate the timeline. How are we going to save them without during worse damage?"

"Captain, permission to speak freely?" T'pol asked, to Archer's surprise.

"Of course."

"Did you ever read of an event such as this in history textbooks or during history classes in school and the academy?"

"Well, no. I read that people developed perfectly normal. I never read anything about a strange group of people coming out of the sky in a shuttle pod." Archer answered.

T'pol raised her eyebrow, an indication that he had just proved her point.

"Oh, so you mean, that we'll get them out of there somewhere without any indication that we're from the future?"

"Exactly."

* * *

"We can't allow them to hear my voice." Malcolm told the two ensigns and the crewman. "Any volunteers to play captain?"

They looked at each other for a moment, discussing with each other, thinking it through, telling each other who they thought would be best. Finally they turned to Malcolm and Travis said "I will, sir."

"Alright. First of all, don't call me sir. Second, say we're travelers, we have absolutely nothing to do with their war, alright?"

"Got it, sir."

"Travis, don't call me sir!" Malcolm said, his adrenaline flowing stronger as the water lapped against his waist. He stood up, so the water was just above his ankles.

"Cutler, you are the doctor, and Rostov, you'll be our cook." Malcolm ordered.

"What about you, si- what about you?" Rostov asked.

"Me? Oh...I'll just be some random person following you on your travels. A journalist maybe."

"Malcolm, I think they're saying something." Travis said.

The boat was closer now, so close that the crew looked like little Lego people. One of them was having their arm and shouting "Bonjour! Qui tes-vous?"

"Oh, bother." Malcolm groaned. "Do any of you people speak French?"

"I speak some." Cutler volunteered.

"Good enough. You'll be our translator."

"Should I respond to their hails?" Cutler asked.

"Uh, yes. Say...that we need help, and our boat, the Enterprise, will be looking for us."

"Aye." Cutler said, and shouted out some French words to them that Malcolm couldn't make out. And the French shouted back even more gibberish.

"They ask that if we're French how come we where the colour of the enemy." Cutler told Malcolm.

"Tell them we aren't on anybody's side. Tell them we're explorers."

Cutler shouted out, again in French, something that the Brit couldn't make out.

"Ooh, I think they're going to help us!" Cutler exclaimed.

"They're throwing ropes overboard for us!" Rostov said, pointing to the boat, which was now almost upon them.

"Let's go then." Malcolm said. "Remember, I say nothing."

"Got it." His crewmates repeated one after the other, diving off the remains of the shuttlepod. Malcolm followed them nervously, his fear of drowning poking holes in his brain. He didn't get wet when it wasn't necessary, he carefully lowered himself into the water and swam so he wouldn't splash much. His crewmates had already grabbed a rope, and were being hauled upward to the boat.

Malcolm clumsily fumbled for the rope, but he finally got a grip and was being hauled up as well. It was a rough ride up: His side was being scraped against the touch wooden ship, and with three men pulling the rope, the ride was far from smooth. When he made it up, his hand was grabbed by a French navy man and he was pulled aboard with Cutler, Travis and Rostov. Some of the men showed a slight hint of shock on their face when they saw Reed, but it quickly disappeared when their Captain greeted the Enterprise troop.

Cutler introduced the Captain (his name being LeBlanc) to Travis (Captain Mayweather, she said), Rostov, herself, and Reed, who she said was a journalist and observer. Captain LeBlanc reached out for Reeds soaked hand. Malcolm looked at it for a moment before smiling and shaking the Captain's hand.

Captain LeBlanc shook everybody's hand as Cutler explained who they were and that only she knew French.

"If you don't speak French what are you doing in French territory?" LeBlanc asked, in French.

"As I said, we are explorers. We simply wish to map the ocean and land and discover the marine life." Cutler responded, in French also.

"Well then where is your ship?" He asked, walking Cutler to the starboard of the ship to look over at the rolling ocean.

Cutler barely managed to stop herself from saying in space. "They have run into trouble with the British. We just managed to escape."

LeBlanc looked her over before calling to his crew to get back to work. He motioned with his finger for one man to come while the rest of the crew scurried back to work on the sails and all. LeBlanc muttered something to the new man in his ear. He nodded, and said:

"My name is Pierre, I have been asked by the Captain to speak with you because of my knowledge of the English language." He said, his voice musical. Cutler looked his fine features over: his sky blue eyes, perfectly peach skin, and finely groomed brown beard.

"Umm, right, OK!" Cutler stuttered.

"Captain LeBlanc does not believe your story. Your uniforms are strange to us. Your explanation of how you got here is not believable." He said smoothly.

Cutler smiled at him. "I'm aware—we're all aware—that our story is unbelievable. But you must believe us."

"Miss Cutler, if somebody was exploring this region, which there is absolutely no reason for, we would know of it. A fleet of explorers cannot explore in war-torn territory. You're Captain, he is African. Yet he does not share in the beliefs of Africans. He does not look like a normal African." At the point, Pierre strolled away from Cutler toward Travis. From his pocket he pulled out a Swiss Army Knife and holding it up to Travis' neck.

"Tell us the truth!" Pierre yelled, getting the attention of the French crew again.

"We're explorers!" Travis yelped.

Pierre put his hand around his neck to hold him still. Malcolm's eyes widened.

"I will kill you if you do not tell us!" Pierre shouted, shaking Travis.

"No don't!" Malcolm yelled impulsively, in his thick British accent. The entire French crew turned to him, and Cutler, Travis and Rostov turned to him in shock.

"I knew it." Pierre said, put the Army Knife away and moving to Malcolm. "A British spy, have we?"

Suddenly LeBlanc shouted to the crew to get back to work, and shouted again to Pierre to escort Cutler, Rostov and Travis to the prisoner cells below deck.

Pierre complied, dragging them off out of sight below deck. When he returned, LeBlanc ordered him to extend the plank. Malcolm couldn't make out a word he said, but he knew only too well what the wood board was for that was being extended over the ocean.

One of the crewmen on lookout shouted down to LeBlanc. On the horizon was another ship. They weren't scheduled to rendez-vous with anybody, so LeBlanc presumed the ship was British. LeBlanc shoved Malcolm toward Pierre and the plank. "As soon as the entire crew saw you they knew you were British. At least you know nothing of us except our uniform colour. On the plank!" He said, shoving Malcolm onto the plank.

Malcolm glared at him, then regained his dignity and stood straight, walking to the edge of the plank. Fear welled up in him again. What if there were sharks down there? What if the ship wasn't British? What if the French tried to shoot him? Malcolm almost laughed, born in the future, died in the past. Wouldn't that be an interesting grave stone to read?

Malcolm looked to the Horizon again. The ship seemed to be just as small as ever.

"Let's go!" Pierre called.

"What will happen to my friends? They're not British, they're not part of this war." Malcolm pointed out.

"We never trust British spies." Pierre said. "Now jump." He growled. He slammed his foot down on the end of the plank which shook it, making Malcolm loose his balance. His arms flailed out in circles, and, loosing his balance, he fell head first into the water. The cold blue washed over his head. He struggled against the water, fighting to get back up. He surfaced, and gasped for as much air as he could handle. The French ship was already turning around speedily, and the British ship was still small on the horizon.

Malcolm was now completely soaked, his uniform began to weigh him down like a stone. But he couldn't take his uniform off, he wouldn't let the British see him in his underwear. But Malcolm's fear of drowning continued to poke holes in his brain, and he struggled against the water. He pulled the zipper down at the back and kicked out of his uniform. It sunk downwards like it was tied to a brick.

Malcolm sighed, and swam toward the ship with all his strength. The sooner he got to the ship and out of the water, away from drowning, the happier he'd be.

What was he supposed to tell Archer and company when, IF, they came on a rescue mission? "Sorry I'm n my underwear, sir, but Cutler, Travis and Rostov are on a French ship that went...somewhere..." Where had the French ship gone? North? East? South? Malcolm got his bearings straight, looking at the horizons spread in a circle around him, looking for some distinguishing landmark. There was the French ship, disappearing in the distance. Circling, Malcolm saw water, water, water, more water, and Oh, Malcolm thought. A boat that's about to run me over!!

Malcolm had no idea the ship could travel that fast, quickly, he swam out of the path of the boat. The crew on board shouted down to him to grab one of the ropes that was being thrown down, or to get out of the way, even the expected "why are you wearing nothing but your underwear?" Malcolm hadn't heard accents so thick since he left England to study at the Accademy.

Quickly Malcolm overcame his drown-a-phobia, and dived under the surface of the ocean to swim faster out of the way of the ship. With his eyes open as he swam under, he saw one of the many dangling ropes and grabbed it...

* * *

When Malcolm was pulled aboard, he was met by a man with his white wig curled around his face. His hands her clasped behind his back and he spoke in a rather Vulcany voice: "And what might you be doing on this fine day, swimming in the middle of the ocean from an enemy ship?"

"A simple misunderstanding, sir." Reed answered.

"And I suppose your being in your underwear is also a simple misunderstanding." The man shot back.

"My clothing was dragging me down! I have...I have aquaphobia. I didn't want my soaked clothing to drag me down."

"Then why are you part of the Royal Navy?"

Reed's eyes widened. That was a most excellent idea, pretending he's in the Navy. "My father encouraged me to get the better of my fears, not the other way around." Reed said truthfully.

The man stood staring at him in thought for a moment. Malcolm took the opportunity to look about him: Several men were standing staring, while others were loyally working about completely ignoring Mal. But he noticed that they all carried guns. Malcolm turned back to the man.

"My name is Commodore Norrington. Welcome aboard the Interceptor." The Commodore held out his hand and, smiling, Reed shook it.

"Reed. Lieutenant Malcolm Reed."

Norrington beckoned to a random crewman. "Take our guest below deck. Find him a spare uniform. Afterwards prepare a meal in the mess."

"Aye." The crewman answered. He escorted Reed below deck and into a room off a narrow hall. He pulled a spare uniform out of closet and tossed it to Malcolm. "I will leave you to change." He said, and walked off before Mal could ask how to get into it.

* * *

Hoshi held Porthos in her arms, one hand gently holding his muzzle closed so he wouldn't make a sound. She stood her ground until her eyes adjusted to the black of night so she could see what she was doing. Archer walked up to her and whispered in her ear "Take Porthos somewhere below deck where he can't cause trouble." Without waiting for an answer he walked away to do other things. Hoshi went down the wooden steps below deck and looked down the dimly lit hall. In the first room to the right was a hard bed, though with lots of blankets. On a desk in the corner was a plate with some odd-looking leftovers. Hoshi went into the room and placed Porthos on the bed.

"Here you go, boy. You stay in here while we look for Malcolm and the others. Let's have a look at the food over here." Porthos watched from the end of the bed as Hoshi inspected the food. Some old bones, rotten vegetables and a bruised apple. "I guess this is the best for you." Hoshi whispered, tossing Porthos a bone. It landed on the bed in front of Porthos, so he lay down and began chewing on it happily. Hoshi smiled.

Feeling that her mission was complete, she went back on top deck. There she saw Trip and T'pol silently arguing over the steering wheel thing, and Archer and Phlox trying to work out the sails.

"Hoshi," Archer ordered when he saw her. "Untie the rope that's hooking us to the dock."

"Aye." She nodded, her long black pony tail bobbing. She reached over the side of the boat and fumbled with the rope. It was thick, and tied tightly. But she finally managed to get it loose. With a whir it unraveled itself from the docking post.

"Hoshi," Archer called again. "Would you mind raising the starboard anchor? It's also holding us down."

Alright. Hoshi thought. At least I'm not doing anything with the sails. After raising the soaked anchor, she decided to see how Trip and T'pol were doing with the steering wheel.

"Do you want to steer?" Trip was asking.

"Since you seem incapable of using it, yes." "I'm not incapable, T'pol. I can learn how to use it. But I'm an engineer, not a pilot. I'd do better figuring out the sails." Trip said in his thick Southern accent, pointing with his head to the sails.

"Well then why don't you assist Phlox and the Captain?" T'pol logically said.

"You know what? I think I will. But you better get us out of here quick, or the French will see us." Trip said, moving off to help the Captain.

T'pol noticed Hoshi for the first time. "Is there something I can do for you, ensign?"

"No, I just don't have much of a use anymore." She said.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm a linguist. What can I do on a boat?"

"We'll need you to help us speak to the French. Without you, we might as well expose our self."

"Sub-commander?" Hoshi said, confused.

"Ensign?"

"I've never heard a Vulcan say something like that."

"As humans say, 'there's a first for everything.'"

* * *

"What's your specialty?" Norrington asked between mouthfuls of chicken, corn and potatoes.

Malcolm fiddled with his food. "Weapons. I love to blow a good hole in a ship."

"Good. The Weapon's Master could use you. We're having some trouble with our canons."

"I'll be glad to help." Reed smiled.

Norrington looked at him. "You haven't eaten much."

"Oh, I'm not very hungry at the moment."

There was a sudden hard knock at the door. It opened, and a young man peeped his head through. "Sir, we've spotted a French ship!"

Norrington and Reed looked at each. They jumped to their feet, rushing on top deck. Norrington pulled out a telescope and peered at the enemy ship. "Huh. It's the ship you were on." He said, passing the telescope to Reed. He took it, and also peered through. He could just make out Cutler talking to a French man.

* * *

"That badge, on the side of your uniform." Pierre said, pointing to the Enterprise emblem on the side of her shoulder. "It says Enterprise, with stars and some type of...space ship, perhaps?"

Cutler remained silent, glaring at what she once thought was a fine and handsome man. A cutie. A heartthrob.

"Answer me."

Cutler still remained silent, her eyes red and her cheeks stained with tear streaks.

Pierre stepped closer to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. She flinched. He stroked one of his fingers down her cheek, and said "I don't want to hurt you. It's not everyday I see a fine woman like yourself in a curvy uniform." He said, moving his face ever closer to hers. Finally. She pulled away, reached up and slapped Pierre hard across the cheek.

Pierre's hand flew to his cheek. It stung and burned red. He made a move to hurt Cutler, but instinctively she raised her arm, blocking him.

Just at that moment, LeBlanc called out in French "British ship approaching!"

Pierre looked cold into Cutler's eyes. "I will be back for you. Somebody take her back to her cell!"

"NO!" Cutler screamed, breaking free from his grip. She turned and ran toward the plank, which was still extended. She ran along it and dived off the end, in the direction of a ship.

"So she is the enemy!" He yelled.

"No, no, no!" LeBlanc said. "Not that ship! That one!" He said, pointing to the British ship, which was south to them.

"But what about that ship?" Pierre asked, pointing to the ship east of them, the ship Cutler hurriedly swam to.

"That ship looks French." LeBlanc told him, looking through their own telescope.

"But we're not scheduled to meet with anybody. Last time I checked no friendlies were anywhere near us!"

* * *

Malcolm almost laughed. The canons were so primitive, why couldn't they see the problem themselves? "You've run out of gunpowder for this canon. There's none left in it." He told the Weapons Master.

"Let me have a look." The Master said, pushing Reed aside to stare down the canon. "Laddy, you're right! What would I have done without you?" The merry man asked, whacking his hand against Reeds shoulder.

"You would have had one less canon." Reed muttered, unheard by the Master because of the loud rattle and clank of canon balls being loaded into canons. The French ship was getting close.

* * *

Archer and Trip hoisted Cutler over the side of the boat. "Are you alright?" Archer asked.

"Fine, sir. I didn't tell them anything. Rostov and Travis are still with the French, though. But they're being distracted by a British ship."

"Where's Malcolm?" Trip asked.

"On the British ship. We had a plan that when we were on the French ship, Malcolm wouldn't talk because of his British accent. But when they almost killed Travis, Malcolm stopped them by speaking. Since he was British, they made him walk the plank."

"But he has aquaphobia!" Archer interrupted. "What did he do?"

"He got shoved into the ocean, but he swam to the British ship."

"Mal must have more guts than we think!" Trip chuckled.

* * *

When Cutler was pulled aboard the Enterprise, the ship Archer and company stole from the French, she discovered that they replicated and now wore British Navy uniforms. They had replicated some extras, and she wore one of the extra uniforms now.

"What do you plan to do?" Elizabeth Cutler asked Archer.

"We're going to steer the ship between the French and the British ships. That way we can storm the French ship and have help from the British. And if we're side by side, our canons will probably have no room to fire." Archer explained.

Cutler nodded. Then something hit her. "But women don't fight. What are Hoshi, the sub-commander and I supposed to do?"

Archer turned to her. "I never thought of that."

"Captain," T'pol butted in. "While the men fight, we women could swing over from our mast to the mast of the French ship, and free our crewmen. Hopefully the fighting should be a distraction enough for us to slip unnoticed."

"T'pol it sounds too risky."

"Captain, I told you a rescue mission itself was too risky."

* * *

"That other ship," Reed said, pointing to the Enterprise, "is British. They wear blue uniforms. They're my friends, they can help us."

"Of course." Norrington said.

* * *

"Sir, it's 2 against 1. We'll never survive. It's took risky!" Pierre frantically told Captain LeBlanc.

"We know they're after their men. We fight. We are 32 strong, with the most capable and trustworthy warriors. Today we shall have victory, and 2 prizes!"

* * *

The ships sailed closer and closer to each other. The Enterprise was steered to go between the 2 other ships. The Interceptor headed toward the Enterprise, while the French ship, the Victoire, headed like a bullet straight on to the enemy ships. The ocean churned beneath the three boats anxiously.

Finally, the Enterprise was between the two boats. The canons on all three ships didn't have the chance to fire. Screaming French men immediately began to swing on ropes from the Victoire to the Enterprise, and yelling British men from the Interceptor swung onto the Enterprise. She was a battle field, with Brits and French men screaming, stabbing, shouting, and slashing.

Gun fire blasts rattled the air, while smoke from the guns began to choke the boats. Blood drenched the Enterprise.

Cutler, Hoshi and T'pol crept onto the Victoire, almost unnoticed. Pierre saw them, and charged at Cutler, gun in hand. But T'pol reached out from behind, grabbed his shoulder and pinched it. Hard. Pierre gasped and fell unconscious. They rushed below deck, following Cutler, to where the Travis and Michael Rostov were being held prisoner in the prison cells. T'pol also inflicted the Vulcan pinch on the guard. She grabbed the key from the guards hand and released the two men.

"Thanks guys. Where's Malcolm?" Travis asked. "Is he OK?"

"He's on the British ship." Cutler explained.

"Prisoner?" Rostov asked.

"No. He's made friends with them." Hoshi told him.

Together the three women and two men went back to the Enterprise. Travis had taken the guard's gun while Rostov picked up Pierre's gun.

The two men joined the fight while the trio contemplated how to get back on board the Enterprise unnoticed.

"Why don't we just go back to the Enterprise, the Starship Enterprise?" Cutler suggested.

T'pol looked at her, raising an eyebrow. She pulled a communicator out of one of her pockets. "T'pol to Enterprise, 3 to beam up."

Still on board the Interceptor, Malcolm noticed a gap growing between the Enterprise and the Interceptor. If he was going to jump to the Enterprise, he'd better do it now. He looked down at the rolling ocean below. If he missed, he might get run over by one of the boats.

Remember what you told the Commodore? Don't let your fears get the better of you! Malcolm sighed, and jumped. But the boat was too far away. He hit the side of the Enterprise and just managed to weave his fingers through a fishing net hanging over the side of the boat. He looked up to see a French man pointing a gun at him. Smiling, the man said. "Au revoir!" Malcolm gasped as the man aimed his gun at Malcolm's face, and BANG! The French man limply fell past Malcolm and into the water below. Looking back up, Captain Archer's face smiled down on Malcolm.

"Are you alright?" He asked, holding out his hand to Malcolm.

"Fine, sir." Malcolm responded.

"That uniform looks good on you."

Malcolm chuckled. "Thank you, sir!"

"Captain!" Travis called.

Archer finished pulling Malcolm up before turning to Travis. "T'pol, Hoshi, Cutler, Rostov, Phlox and Trip have beamed back to the Enterprise. We should go now too, we're the only ones left."

Archer nodded. Pulling a communicator from a pocket, he flipped it open. It chirped. "Archer to Enterprise, three to beam up!"

A shower of static rained over them, and they were gone, leaving the Interceptor and the Victoire to fight among themselves.

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Captain?" T'pol asked, stepping into the ready-room where Archer stood staring at the window, gazing at the stars of 2153.

"What do you think of Earth's past?" Archer asked, still facing the window.

"It's not my cup of tea."

Archer turned to her with a smile on his face. "Did I leave the real T'pol back in 1790?"

"You're the one encouraging me to embrace and accept human ways."

Archer chuckled, and turned around to face her. "I finally decided who to promote."

T'pol lifted an eyebrow.

"I've decided to promote...Porthos!" Archer exclaimed. Porthos lifted his head off his doggy bed and looked up at his master. He barked loudly, knowing something was up...about him.

T'pols eyes widened. "You are promoting a canine? Captain...I am shocked."

Eagerly, Porthos waddled over to Archer. He scooped him up and put him on the desk. Then he pulled on the zipper on his sleeve, took out the pip. He attached it to a fluff of fur at his neck, where it hung loosely. (A/N: Nasty thoughts, people. Of course it didn't hurt the poor dog. He attached it to a fluff of fur, not skin.)

"Meet ensign Porthos!" Archer said, picking up his beagle once again. His wagging tail whacked Archer.

"Captain, I—" T'pol began.

"T'pol, don't worry! Relax!" Archer chuckled.

T'pol stood silent for a moment. Her eyebrows raised and lowered many times. "What is his function?"

"To boost crew morale." Archer explained, grinning broadly. "And by the looks of it, you could use a little boost!"


End file.
